Reverie
by AKA-Justine
Summary: Super-villains, someone tell me why the hell we didn't see this one coming? A story of what comes after. Rated for just about everything.
1. Happy Birthday

So I wanted to mix my two favorite aspects of the current Kick-Ass Fanfics. I wanted to take awesome OCs, the concept of revenge, and the leaked plot ideas for Kick-Ass: Balls to the wall, in order to make a story for everyone to enjoy. If you're looking for some love-y dove-y wish fullfillment story, click back. Likewise, if you're looking for something that's a constant blood bath, click back. However, if you'll settle for my attempt at keeping things somewhat balanced then keep reading. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Mindy, a normal sixth grade girl living a normal life. Had I only known her as Hit-Girl and not the teary eyed Mind Macready who I consoled in the midst of the D'Amico household as it burned to ashes around us I might have never been able to fathom this idea. But, lo and behold, there I stood in the park with pink party decorations on the picnic tables and giggling preteens eager to eat cake and hand out presents.

I stood in the fresh cut grass, feeling awkward and out of place. Despite being an undercover hero I was still just a teenage boy and no teenage boy really feels completely at home in the midst of a sixth grader's birthday party. Her mother had no problem with the idea of me visiting Mindy as often as I did, to her I was her savior. If only she knew that it was actually the other way around. Walking towards Mindy's table, a rectangular box wrapped in baby blue wrapping paper that donned a purple bow, I thought about how I would go about giving her the gift.

The child formerly known as Hit-Girl looked bored. Her chin rested in her hand as her expression showed that her mind was somewhere far away from the girls around her who chattered mindlessly about things like boys and who had gotten their periods. I knew for a fact none of these things could ever possibly interest Mindy, who since I had last seen her traded her long pigtails for a glittery butterfly hairclip. It wasn't a butterfly knife, sure, but by the cracked edge I could tell she probably liked to pretend it was.

"Hey." I managed to spout out awkwardly as I stood in front of Mindy. I was so close and she hadn't even noticed me. Just how far gone in her own little world was she? At the sound of my voice her head perked up and she flashed a smile.

"Hey." she chirped, eyeing my box curiously. "So, whatcha get me?" She asked with a mischievous smirk. I rolled my eyes and she let out a small laugh.

"Right to business, should have figured." It has occurred to me that her friends are all staring at me now. Gee, these girls are just miniature versions of the she-demons at my school. I surrendered my clumsy wrapped box to the eager birthday girl. In a matter of seconds she had made quick work of my shoddy wrapping job to reveal the gift inside.

"Dude!" She begins, her eyes lit up as she pulled the gift out of its box. In her hands is a dark purple skateboard complete with pink wheels. Most of the girls scrunch up their noses save for two who look as delighted as Mindy. I'm taking a wild guess and saying those two are the only ones she bothers to hang out with outside of this party. "It's. . ." She pauses, trying to find a word that won't make her mother angry. "It's awesome!"

I already knew Mindy wanted a skateboard. Granted, she would have liked a gun or maybe tear gas more. Still her mother doesn't like her using weapons, and her school has kicked her out of most contact sports. While she takes a few martial arts classes she thinks they're pretty boring. So I figured I get her something to make her life a little less dull. As she places the skateboard on the grass and places her feet on the board few of the parents say something like, 'be careful', but they don't know Mindy.

Just as the little blonde goes to hug me is when it happens. A shot rings out in the backyard and for a moment everyone freezes. No one is aware of what has happened yet until the girl next to Mindy falls backwards, blood pooling out of a fresh bullet wound to the head. My eyes widen as Mindy grabs the fabric of my shirt and brings me down to the floor. I get my wits back as a sea of gunshots sounds around me, and I quickly cover Mindy. Much to my dismay the two of us are costumeless, weaponless, and utterly useless in this situation. A part of me wishes that I could pull off something impossibly badass and save the day, and I know Mindy must be thinking the same thing. However, we aren't Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass right now. In this moment we're just poor little Dave and Mindy, two helpless kids in the middle of a shoot out.

As fast as it started it's finished, and not even a day later it'll be all over FOX news. Fortunately, Mindy and her mom come out unscathed, unfortunately five children and two adults are dead.

As I stand up and fix my glasses I make a futile attempt to drown out the sounds of the dying people around me. Squinting I look at the black SUV with windows so tinted the owner might as well have spray painted them black. For a brief moment I catch sight of a face in the half open passenger's side window. He cracks what I think is a smile from behind his mask before speeding away.

I'd know that gravity defying hairdo anywhere, and the knot in my stomach mutters to me that the email I received from him shortly after our last show down was much more than an empty threat. At my side a wild eyed Mindy charges at the vehicle, hair clip in hand, and chucks the item at the car's windshield with deadly precision. However, the plastic is no match for the bullet proof glass and it ricochets off only to be crushed under gargantuan tires.

Watching in disbelief as the car speeds off the horrible cries of mothers and fathers claw at my ears. Mindy pulls at her hair like a wild animal, screaming obscenities. Around us children are loosing blood and a little girl is slowly losing her Aunt. I feel sick; I vomit.

Being a superhero, at least for me, has different periods. It's a horrible rollercoaster of things being the fun filled adventure I'd wanted them to be, horribly dull, and my least favorite of them being situations so deadly and serious I'd have never donned the costume had I known death would cling to me like a fly on shit. Now is one of those serious periods, and watching Mindy as she pulls out tufts of hair I realize that the only way to bring the current deadly period to an end is to find the guy who did this.

I have to find Chris D'Amico.

* * *

There aren't any OCs in this chapter, I know. They'll happen eventually. Prepare yourselves. Anyway, this is my first fic on here so any kind of feedback is great. I'm not begging or anything, so feel free to leave a comment and alternatively feel free to stay silent.


	2. Oh Baby

Author's note: A review made me realize that I never stated what verse this takes place. To be honest, I haven't settled on one. I believe that with the movie coming out and whatnot that certain elements may be added to the sequel to better accommodate new readers. So, in essence, this story is a universe bi-sexual, you'll see elements from both verses in the story.

I'll also let you know the story flips between Dave's narration and Chris' narration. You'll see that both narration style are vastly different.

You know, it's not everyday some asshole in a costume murders your dad. Maybe that's why I'm so pissed off. I mean, how do you even come to explain that to a therapist. More over, how in the fuck are the kids in group therapy supposed to fathom that? Of course when a family members dies everyone is so quick to say things like 'my condolences' and 'I'm sorry'. What the fuck do they have to be sorry about? They didn't kill my dad. What they should say is "Hey, sucks dirty ass that your dad died." That's a more honest response.

Once I turned eighteen I pulled myself out of therapy. I don't need some half baked shrink to tell me I have issues. No shit, tell me something I don't know. Some people aren't made to be in therapy, I'm one of those people. Besides, I find putting on my new costume and causing a little chaos to be much more productive than sitting in a room full of whiny ass teenage pussies.

Not to mention that with all the little super cunts popping up I had to take it upon myself to level the playing field. Sure, there's a cornu-friggin-copia of bad guys out there, but there aren't enough "super-villains". Plus, finding a promising super-villain to be isn't as easy as you think it is. I can't just pull some mafioso aside and hand him spandex, it's deeper than that. I had to scour the streets for some of the most sick and twisted fucks I could find, and guess what? I found them.

Though, shortly after setting a few mad dogs free to terrorize the citizens of New York new villains popped up and saved me the trouble of making new ones. Most of them were just petty criminals and thieves donning Halloween masks and capes. However, there were a few that were the real deal and those were the guys I was looking to team up with.

Of course, even with people like Glasgow Grinner and The Eradicator at my side sometimes things didn't always go according to plan. Granted, if you read any comic book things never seem to go according to plan, do they? Our first Major flop took place a week or so ago. We'd decided to rough up some hoity toity art exhibit up in the Village. You know, punch some art fags, steal their shit, and hold it for ransom. As it turns out, someone else was looking to crash the party too.

The exhibit was pretty friggin huge, and while this allowed us to operate with more room and pile in more guys, it also allowed Glasgow to get caught alone with the separate intruder. Now, if you saw The Glasgow Grinner, you wouldn't think he'd be the one to get taken down. He's a big guy, with that UK brogue and muscles on top of his muscles. He isn't the type to just let his guard down. However, if you're soon to be attacker is a girl with a nice rack in latex daisy dukes you'd probably lower your guard too. God help him, he's just a guy.

So, the way Glasgow tells it, the chick appears from nowhere and wastes no time trying to make quick work of his pants. Needless to say he isn't about to protest, so, there they are with his johnson in her hands. What does she do? Does she snap it in half? Does she give him a blowie? Oh no kids, she does something you probably wouldn't think of doing, she pierces his penis.

Oh yes, you heard me right, she pierces his penis.

Not once, by the way, but twice. I'm not sure if you know this, but if a dick is pierced the wrong way it's essentially broken. . .Forever. And, as you can imagine, she was anything but gentle with the poor sap. So now I've got a limp dick colleague and a bunch of goons who are afraid their little buddies are going to suffer the same fate. Not like I can blame them though, the thought of having it happen to me makes my dick want to shrink back into my body.

You know what? That isn't the most odd part about the story either. The odd part is what she left on the rings. After Glasgow Grinner got up enough courage to reach into his pants and pull it the bars that were shoved in his septum he find that there's something scratched into the metal. What's it say? From what we can gather the bars say "Double Entendre".

As it turns out, the bitch has a MySpace. She looks like about as much of a whore as Glasgow described her and doesn't do a good job at hiding it. She displays herself as a hero, doing small jobs such as retrieving stolen money or items and the like, along with a few other things. However, the police apparently find her suspicious and have tried pinning her to various crimes. Then again, what masked vigilante doesn't seem suspicious?

We tried to track her IP address, but she's managed to wire her address so that it switches from various areas in the city at intervals of fifteen minutes. Which means she's either tech savvy or rich. Not to mention with her skin tone we can't tell if she's Hispanic, Indian, black, or just really likes to tan. So, we did the next best thing, we messaged her on MySpace.

The letter went as follows:

"Double Entendre,

Just who the FUCK do you think you are? Do you think you're some big bad bitch just because you took down one of my men? Well guess what whore, I'm going to find you and fuck you up. You're going to get TEN FUCKING TIMES what Glasgow got and more. And if you think you can pull of the shit you did during our last heist again, remember you only get lucky once.

I'll find you,  
Big-Shot"

I sent this from my iPhone as the boys and I rode around in the SUV. To be honest, the Mist Mobile was ten times more bad-ass than what we're riding in now. But, I can't afford to be all flashy and shit when I'm out doing crime. Cruising around in a a red car that spews out mist while blasting loud music just scream "catch me". So now I've settled for more low key cars. At my side was a goon donning a simple ski mask and behind me was the Eradicator who was cradling his gun as if it were a small child. The man was way too fond of his fire arms.

"All right boys." I breath as I lift up my gun. The SUV rolls around the corner and I catch a glimpse of party balloons. In the distance I can see the small twelve year old and my lips curl into a smile. I don't know who Kick-Ass is, but I do know that if I put a bullet in the girl's head than I can lure him out. Plus, she's a bigger threat. I don't want some pint sized bitch knifing my men as I'm trying to take down that green fag.

I aimed for the girl, but I didn't anticipate that she'd move. I almost felt bad when my bullet nailed the girl next to her. Almost, but not quite. After my first shot The Eradicator let loose, not having any real target so much as causing collateral. This was fine with me, the more damage the better. Eventually everyone was on the floor, either dead or in an attempt to take cover. From the distance I couldn't be sure if I'd shot the little bitch or not, but even if I hadn't, I think I got my message out quite nicely. As the lackey sped off, my phone beeped out a message alert.

"Oh baby, you better be hot."

Double Entendre.

That's all for now. I finally got my laptop back (chapter one was written entirely on an iPod touch) so I'll probably update every two days or whenever inspiration should strike me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed/followed the story and anyone who will review/follow the story.


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